


for the dancing and the dreaming

by BlueMoon_3, soleil_slytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Background Relationships, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Durmstrang Student Draco Malfoy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Triwizard Tournament, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2020-04-24 03:11:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19164631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoon_3/pseuds/BlueMoon_3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soleil_slytherin/pseuds/soleil_slytherin
Summary: In which Draco Malfoy goes to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts, and Harry and Draco meet in fourth year during the Triwizard tournament. Sparks fly, both metaphorically and literally.





	1. i'll swim and sail on savage seas

**Author's Note:**

> the video this is inspired by - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EGOTwk4cujw&t=13s

Harry jostled for a spot at the front of the crowd, pushing and jumping to get a better view over the heads of Crabbe and Goyle, who’d bullied their way to the front. But the crowd only grew bigger and by then it was impossible to cross the sea of witches and wizards. A bit disappointed, Harry gave up and settled for where he already stood. 

Guess being the Boy Who Lived served no help when it came to other wizarding schools. 

Hermione stood by his side, her face alight with excitement as she nudged his arm a bit too forcefully.

“Who do you think is going to come first? Beauxbatons or Durmstrang?” She yelled over the noise of agitated students.

“Who and who?” Ron mumbled as he crossed his arms, his face shut in a slight pout. The Weasley was the least enthusiastic of the crowd. 

“Beauxbatons or Durmstrang.” Hermione repeated indignantly. “The two other wizarding schools. According to Magical Schools of Europe, Beauxbatons is French, but Durmstrang is notoriously secretive-”

“Okay, okay.” Ron cut her off, knowing if he didn’t she might have never stopped. “We get it, Hermione you’r-” before he had the chance to complete his sentence, Ron’s voice was drowned out by a low roar. 

Everyone craned their heads up at the sky in search of the origin of the sound. Despite his initial disorientation, Harry followed their lead, seeing an enormous carriage descending from the clouds. It was pulled by large and robust horses that were slowly growing larger as they came closer to the ground.

Students pushed each other to get a better view, chatting among themselves. Like Harry, most of them had never seen wizards from other schools before and excitement bubbled over the crowd. 

The carriage touched down with rehearsed grace, and from inside came a student that quickly held the door open. From the doorway, a massive figure loomed. The only person Harry could conjure that was taller than the woman now approaching Dumbledore was Hagrid. 

Hogwarts students broke into applause prompted by their headmaster. They stood on their toes, trying to get a better view of the Beauxbatons headmaster. She extended one hand once she reached  
Dumbledore, and he leaned down to kiss it. 

“My dearest Madame Maxime. Welcome to Hogwarts.” He said once he had straightened up. 

“Dumbledore. I hope I find you well?” Madame Maxime’s voice was deep and echoed throughout the courtyard, her French accent thick. 

“In excellent form, thank you.” Dumbledore nodded. 

Madame Maxime gestured behind her, to the blue-robed students peering with wide eyes from inside the carriage. “My pupils.”

There were roughly a dozen teens behind her, ages ranged from fourteen to eighteen. They shivered from the cold obviously not used to the weather, as their robes were fine and silky. They all looked at the students and the castle anxiously.

“Has Karkaroff arrived yet?” Madame Maxime spoke again. 

“Who’s Karkaroff?” Ron hissed, his pout growing bigger by the minute.

Hermione whispered back, not taking her eyes off of Madame Maxime. “He’s the headmaster of Durmstrang.” 

The trio watched with wide eyes as the headmasters conversed easily, Madame Maxime inquiring about her horses, and Dumbledore reassuring her that Hagrid would take good care of them. 

Harry watched Madame Maxime ascend the stairs to the castle doors, her students following her in an elegant swish of robes. He looked away when Seamus Finnigan nudged his arm on the same spot  
Hermione had before. 

“How big d’you reckon Durmstrang’s horses are going to be?”

“If they’re any bigger than this lot’s, even Hagrid won’t be able to handle them.” He responded, rubbing his slightly sore arm. “That’s if he hasn’t been attacked by skrewts. Wonder what’s up with them?”

“Maybe they’ve escaped.” Ron piped up hopefully.

“Don’t say that.” Hermione shuddered. “You don’t want those lot loose on the grounds. Can you imagine?”

They fell silent, and Harry wrapped his coat tighter around myself, the cold biting at his bones. He regretted not wearing a thicker jacket, and by the looks of it, so did everyone around him.

After a few minutes of silence and shifting feet, Ron nudged Harry on the same spot Hermione and Seamus had. His arm tingled with pain, and Harry directed Ron a death glare.

“What?” Harry complained.

“Can you hear something?” 

Sure enough, Lee Jordan broke the silence, pointing. “The lake! Look at the lake!” 

It seemed the Durmstrang students had arrived. 

 

Draco peered out of the dusty porthole, trying to get a glimpse of Hogwarts. He was worn-out and cranky from making sure the ship wasn’t falling apart, which was so close to happening it was unsettling. He clenched his fists as he thought of Karkaroff lounging in his plush room with a glass of fine whisky in his hand, not lifting a finger to help.

Instead of dwelling on his, quite frankly, pathetic headmaster, he rubbed the porthole with his sleeve cleaning out the fog and collected dust. It was then that he saw, over the murky water, a towering castle. 

He rushed down the trembling latter that supported his weight, and shook awake Krum. His friend was passed out on one of the bunks, exhausted and possibly scarred from the earlier life-threatening incident. “C’mon, we’ve arrived.”

He grunted and Draco stuck his hand out. Krum grasped it and pulled himself up with a groan. 

Normally, under no circumstances would Draco consider helping someone up. After all, Krum could do that himself. However, Krum was handsome, a star quidditch player, and famous. The Malfoy didn’t think anyone in the entire school wasn’t at least a little attracted to him. Even some of the boys, of which Draco was one. Still, their relationship was strictly platonic. They tended to stick together, him and Krum. Draco was a first year and Krum a third year when he rescued the younger from bullies, and they’d been inseparable ever since. 

“Thanks, mate.” Viktor nodded and headed out to the dock. The ship was already at the edge of the lake by the time they left their cabins. 

Draco joined the line of people falling off the ship, squinting at the crowd. He thought of Mother’s wish for him to fit in and “enjoy himself”, and concluded he could find an acquaintance or two, just to please her. She had been worried when he had announced how he was heading to Hogwarts in an attempt to join an ancient wizard tournament that had been stopped because of the number of deaths it caused. He still couldn’t imagine why.

Of course, Father had been proud that Draco was going to his old school. He had been quite disappointed when Mother insisted on him attending Durmstrang. Of course, Father preferred the certain type of classes Durmstrang offered, but he had been apprehensive to send his only son to a school that he had no sway in.

As Draco stepped off the boat, he couldn’t help but fan myself slightly. Apparently Scotland was much hotter than Norway. Everyone in his school was wearing fur coats, and, he realized as he looked around, regretting it. 

“Dumbledore,” Karkaroff called, and Draco realized how close Krum and him were to the headmasters. 

“How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?” Karkaroff continued in his oily voice. 

“Blooming, thank you.” 

Draco turned his attention to an old man with a long white beard and half moon spectacles. So this was Dumbledore. The man his father hated. He didn’t look that bad, still, what kind of person said blooming? Not someone who was perfectly sane, for sure.

Karkaroff walked forwards, clasping Dumbledore’s hand in two of his. He looked up at the castle with a rather scary expression, as if he was trying to act excited. He was failing. 

“How good it is to be here, how good,...” Draco and Krum exchanged a look, Krum snorting in an attempt to hide his laughter. They both knew the only reason Karkaroff was glad to be there was because he had been horribly seasick the entire journey. “Viktor, come along, into the warmth… you don’t mind, do you, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold.”

He had no such head cold.

Krum shuffled next to Karkaroff, ignoring the mutters that erupted from the crowd of Hogwarts students. 

Draco followed behind Krum and Karkaroff, quite looking forward to seeing the inside of Hogwarts. While Durmstrang was rather gloomy, apparently Hogwarts had stunning architecture. Of course, he had done his research before coming here, borrowing a copy of Hogwarts, a History from his library. He was quite looking forward to finding some of the secret passages mentioned in the books. He was not looking forward to the moving staircases. Who had come up with such ingenious idea, anyway?

Once all the students were inside, Durmstrang students stood at the entrance to the great hall, looking a bit lost, as Hogwarts students filed in to the dining tables. There were four tables, and if he remembered what he had read correctly, they were for the four houses. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and something that started with an H. 

Krum had called them the stupidly brave ones, the evil ones, the smart ones, and the ones nobody remembers.

Draco soon noticed that him and Krum were the only ones still standing at the door. The rest of his classmates had headed to a couple of different tables. 

Krum started walking and Draco hurried to catch up. “Where are you going?” He asked.

Krum pointed to a spot on the table furthest to the right. “I saw those three at the World Cup over the summer. I don’t know anyone else.” He shrugged.

“What about Harry Potter?” Draco asked, trying to mask the excitement in his voice and ignore the turn on his stomach. “The boy who lived. Do you know him?” Even though he didn’t even know what Potter looked like, and he hadn’t set off on this trip looking for friends, the boy who lived would perhaps be a useful one. 

“I don’t know him.” Krum shrugged. 

They approached the table with students wearing red ties and scarfs. At it sat a gangly redhead, and he could hear Father’s rants about Arthur as he immediately recognized the boy as a Weasley. Next  
to him was a girl with bushy brown hair and a nervous smile. The last person in their trio had messy black hair that flopped in front of his forehead and emerald eyes. You’re not here to make friends.  
Draco repeated to himself. 

He sat next to the boy with black hair, while Krum slid in next to Weasley, who looked like he was having a heart attack. Draco suppressed a snort and held out his hand to the boy next to him.

“I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. That’s Viktor Krum,” he pointed to his friend.

“I’m Ha-” The last part of the boy’s name was drowned out by the table next to them erupting in laughter. It sounded like he said Harold, but he wasn’t sure. 

However, it would be too embarrassing to ask his name, so Draco stayed silent and gave a short nod. 

“That’s Hermione,” He pointed to the girl to his right, “and Ron.” He pointed to the Weasley with flaming ears to match his hair.

Before Draco could respond, Dumbledore stood at the front of the dining room and everyone fell silent. “Good evening, ladies and gentleman, ghosts, and most particularly, guests. I have great pleasure in welcoming you to Hogwarts. I hope that your stay here will be memorably enjoyable. The tournament will be opened after our feast, but for now, eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!”

As soon as the crowd stopped applauding, heaping mounds of food appeared on the plate in front of Draco. He jumped back at their sudden appearance, nearly falling off his chair. And indeed he would have if it hadn’t been for Harold grabbing his hand. 

“Thank you,” said Draco, and he could feel the blood rushing to his face. He probably seemed like a clutz to these Hogwarts students. 

“Could you pass the pudding?” Krum gestured to a thick, creamy chocolate pudding that sat to Weasley’s left. Weasley turned an even darker shade of red and tried to reply before giving up and pushing the bowl towards Krum.

Weasleys. Draco thought before mentally slapping himself. His mother had insisted that he make an effort to be nicer to people, most likely in an attempt to stop her son from following in his father’s footsteps. However, the Weasley made it seem like an impossibly difficult task.

Krum gestured to the front of the room, at the staff table. There sat Ludo Bagman and Mr. Crouch. 

“What are they doing here?” Harold asked.

“They organized the tournament. I believe that they will be judges also.” Krum responded.

After another course, which Draco suspected was made up of foods from all three countries the schools called home, Dumbledore stepped up to the front of the room once more. Everyone fell silent, anticipation thickening the air. 

“Now that the Triwizard Tournament is about to start,” Dumbledore said, “I would like to say a few words, before the casket is brought in.”

Draco whispered, “The casket? It isn’t zombies, isn’t it?” 

Despite the joke mostly being directed at Krum, Harold laughed, and the sound echoed from wall to wall. He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, his cheeks red and eyes open wide. Draco gave him a half-smile, more than he allowed most people. He couldn’t deny that he found the gesture a tiny bit adorable, but he would die before uttering his thoughts.  
The Malfoy turned back to Dumbledore just in time to hear him introduce Bagman and Crouch. Bagman seemed to enjoy the attention, beaming and waving, but Crouch slunk into the background, sulking. 

“The casket, please, Filch.” A mousy man darted onto stage, with a plain wooden chest contrasting with the jewels shining on it. 

“The champions for this years Tournament will not be chosen by their headmaster, nor by Mr. Crouch or Ludo Bagman. We will use an impartial party to decide.”

Dumbledore whipped his wand from his robes and tapped the casket thrice. It creaked open, revealing a cup, made of the same wood of the casket, but filled with blueish-white flames that leaped around, casting an eerie glow upon Dumbledore’s solemn face. 

“If you wish to become a champion, all you need to do is write their name and school on a slip of paper and place it in the goblet of fire. The champions will be picked in twenty-four hours. I would like to remind you that this is a binding contract, sealed with ancient magic. If you are picked, don’t count on backing out.”

Goodnight and good luck.”

 

Harry collapsed in his bed, not even bothering to change his clothes. They seemed to cling to his limbs anyway, as if the cold he felt earlier that morning now lived inside him. Ron climbed into the bunk on top of his and was snoring in an instant, causing Harry to chuckle to himself.

He tried to follow his friend’s lead, but Harry couldn’t get to sleep. Viktor Krum, the best seeker of this generation, had sat with them. Ron had been a mess the entire time, his face flushing redder by the second and speaking was another level of impossible. But Krum seemed to find it rather amusing, and talked to the Weasley and Hermione regardless. And although being face to face with the seeker was mind boggling, it wasn’t what made sleeping an unreachable task. 

He couldn’t get Draco Malfoy out of his head. The Durmstrang boy hadn’t acted at all surprised when he had said his name, which was nice. Odd, but nice. Maybe they didn’t know about him in Durmstrang. He kind of hoped so, even though that would mean explaining to everyone about him.

Draco’s eyes had been such a cloudy shade of grey, and they had been constantly shifting around, calculating, like he had something to hide, and it was quite interesting, Harry couldn’t deny that Draco was-

Get a grip, Harry. He told himself, yawning. Just go to sleep. Sure enough, Harry couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, and he fell fast asleep.

 

Everyone was exhausted as they dragged their feet to the breakfast hall, the next morning. Harry, Ron, and Hermione collective had uttered the impressive total of five words since they sat down at the table.

“D’you think anyone put their name in yet?”

“I saw half of the Durmstrang lot throw theirs in yesterday,” Dean Thomas piped in. “They did it really late though, almost no one was in the hall.”

“That’s how I would do it,” Harry told him. “Imagine if the goblet just spit your name out again, I don’t know what I would do.”

Ron nodded, but his eyes widened as he caught sight of something behind Harry. He spun around to see Fred, George and Lee Jordan. They were all beaming and striding towards the cup. 

“What are you doing?” Hermione grabbed on to Fred’s robes, stopping him. “You’re too young to put your name in. You do remember there’s an age line, don’t you?”

Fred puffed up his chest. “We’ve taken an aging potion.” 

George popped up behind Fred. “We’ve only a couple of months too young, after all.”

“You don’t think Dumbledore would have thought of this?” Hermione shook her head. “He knows all about aging potions, he’s the headmaster after all.”

Fred, George, and Lee Jordan simply began walking again. Once they reached the edge of the Age Line, they collectively took a deep breath.

“I guess I’ll go first, then?” Fred spoke up, already taking a step past the line. He paused a second, and when nothing appeared to happen, he let out a whoop of joy. It broke the silence that had hung over the great hall as all the students watched him. George leaped in too, but before they could place their slips in the cup, a bang echoed throughout the hall, and both boys were thrown out of the circle by some invisible, magical force. 

Laughter echoed through the hall as Fred and George stood up, revealing that they had sprouted thick white beards, almost as long as Dumbledore’s.

As Harry watched the Weasley twins, accompanied by Lee, headed to the hospital wing, he noticed a couple of Durmstrang students lingering by the doorstep, confused. Draco and Krum were among them, so Harry, in an act of uncharacteristic bravery, waved Draco over. 

When Draco arrived, he sat next to Harry with a puzzled look on his face. “So, do people regularly grow beards here? I saw a girl with one on my way here.”

“No, my brothers just tried to cross the age line.” Ron told Draco. Although he was still stuttering slightly, he was a lot calmer around Viktor than the last time he had been with him. Harry was glad, because Ron had acted like a dunce.

“Oh, those are your brothers.” Draco nodded, a hint of a smirk on his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron leaned to look over Hermione and Harry. 

Draco sighed. “Oh, nothing.” Harry was beginning to pick up on the fact that Draco might be a little arrogant. The way he tilted his head slightly, the smirk, the eyebrow raise, all signature Draco moves that Harry was beginning to learn. 

“Anyways,” Said Hermione, trying to break the tension that had settled over the table. “Have you lot put your names in yet?” She addressed Krum and Draco. 

“Not yet.” Krum said. Harry noticed that his eyes lingered on Hermione’s a little longer than normal. “Actually, I’ll do it now.” He scrawled his name on the napkin. It was well practiced, and Harry was reminded that Krum wasn’t just a normal student. It was easy to forget for him, at least easier than it was for Ron. 

Once Viktor had written his name down, he headed towards the center. The dining hall’s buzz quieted slightly as they began whispering, pointing at him. 

He crossed the age line easily and dropped his slip of paper into the cup. The flame grew and the cup let out a few blue sparks before returning to normal, along with the room as soon as they had seen  
there would be no drama this time.

Krum strode confidently down the aisle back to the table, slapping Draco on the back before sitting down. “Now it’s your turn.”

“How do you reckon the age line will work for me?” Draco asked. “Since I’m not over 17?”

“You’re not?” Harry blurted without thinking.

“Do I really look it?” Draco said dramatically. “To answer your question, no, I’m a fourth year. But Durmstrang didn’t put an age limit on entering the Tournament.” He shrugged. “So here I am.”

He bent down and printed his name neatly on his napkin. When he was finished, Draco stood up, muttered, “Wish me luck,” and strode down the aisle. When he reached the age circle, Harry held his breath, but Draco passed through effortlessly and let his paper flutter into the goblet, which let out a flame but accepted it.  
Draco returned to the table, beaming, and Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of Draco’s stunning smile.

 

When Draco sat down next to Harold, he felt his cheeks a bit sore from the unusual amount of smiling. With a small cough he quickly composed himself returning his expression to his usual cool indifference.

Ron and Hermione obliviously returned to their conversation with Krum, leaving Harold and Draco to talk to each other. Harold looked down at his breakfast for a second, clearly struggling to come up with a topic of conversation. “Do you think you’ll be picked as the champion?” Harold asked him after a couple of moments of silence, playing with his food. 

“Krum will probably be picked. He’s strong, handsome…” Draco trailed off as he realized two things: one, that Harry was staring at him, confused, and two, that Krum was just a couple of seats away, definitely within earshot. “He’s definitely Karkaroff’s favorite, too. Thank goodness he isn’t the one picking the champions, if he was I wouldn’t even stand a chance,” he tried to not let on his irritation.

“Oh,” Harry stated. Draco quickly realized that he had practically poured his heart out to this person who he had known for approximately a day, and sighed out loud, causing Harry’s puzzled look to deepen. In his defense, Harold seemed like a decent lad who could keep a secret.  
Ron, who hadn’t been paying as much attention to Hermione and Krum’s conversation as Draco had thought, chimed in. “You can’t relate,” he said to Harold, then for Draco’s sake he added, “He’s been Dumbledore’s favorite since year one.”

“I guess you and Krum have something in common.” Draco told Harold with a stretch of the lips.

To his surprise, instead of being happy with the comparison to the famous quidditch star, Harold half-frowned. “Yeah, we are quite alike. Nobody knew that at all.” He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Before he could figure out why Harold was annoyed, Hermione tapped Harry on the shoulder, and they both turned to hear what she was saying. 

“D’you want to head over to Hagrid’s?” She asked. “I was talking to Viktor and he’s interested in meeting the person who can tame Madame Maxime’s giant horses.”

“Hagrid?” Draco said before he could stop himself. “The groundskeeper?”

“Yes.” Hermione crossed her arms. “I don’t see what’s such a big problem with that.”

“No, I didn’t mean it in that way-” Draco gave up when Hermione simply stood up, brushed off her skirt, and walked towards the door, Krum following her.

“I suppose we’re going to see Hagrid then,” muttered Draco underneath his breath, following the lot.

By the time they left Hagrid’s hut, the sky was beginning to dim. The sun sunk below the horizon, painting the sky with thick strokes of orange and pink. 

Despite Draco’s initial concern, Hagrid seemed to be a pleasant enough fellow. He was quite odd, and kept trying to offer him scones that tasted more like rocks than pastries, but he was kinder than all of the teachers at Durmstrang combined. A rock hard pastry was a walk on the beach next to unforgivable curses.

Once they reached the Great Hall, nearly all the tables were full, the chatter among the students from all schools creating a warm atmosphere. The walls were lined with candles, casting a soft glow on the magnificent feast laid out, but most importantly, the wooden cup spitting flames at the front of the room. 

When they sat down, they were greeted with all sorts of halloween treats. Candy-filled pumpkins, carrot cake, and sweet apple juice were Draco’s favorites, and he gobbled them down faster than they could reappear again. Harold seemed amused by his temporary lack of poise, but since his smile wasn’t that bad to look at, Draco didn’t bother defending his image.

The feast seemed too long, or perhaps that was just Draco’s patience being stretched thin. When Dumbledore finally stood up and the quiet fell over the hall, it seemed like Draco had lost a quarter of his life.

“We have minutes, maybe less, until the goblet makes its decisions.” Dumbledore addressed the students who were hanging on to his every word. “Champions, when they are chosen, will enter this chamber,” He gestured behind him, to a small door. “Where they will wait for more directions.”

Dumbledore, being the melodramatic wizard he was, swished his wand and the candles dimmed, setting a dark climate. Everyone’s eyes were now glued to the goblet, who’s flames grew rowdier by the minute.

The goblet’s flames roared red, and a gasp rushed throughout the students. The cup spit out a slip of paper, only slightly charred, and Dumbledore squinted at it for a second before announcing, “The champion for Durmstrang will be-” Draco held his breath, daring to hope-

“Viktor Krum!” Draco deflated as Krum rose to thunderous applause and strode down the aisle, ascending the stairs and closing the door to the chamber behind him. 

He could see Harold giving him a look of pity out of the corner of his eye. He hated it. Draco steeled and applauded poliety, just as the rest of the school was quieting down.

Before he could collect himself further, another name flew out of the goblet. “The champion for Beauxbatons,” Dumbledore’s voice boomed throughout the room, “Is Fleur Delacour!” 

A pretty girl with long silvery hair stood up from the Ravenclaw table, smiling. She entered the same room as Krum, and Draco wondered what they would talk about in the chamber, thought about how different it would have been if his name had come out of the cup.

Complete and utter silence fell over the great hall. Draco knew the question that was on everyone’s mind. Who would the final champion be?

“The Hogwarts champion,” Dumbledore caught the slip of paper that came out of the cup, “Is Cedric Diggory!” 

There was a roar from the table dressed in yellow, and a handsome, brown haired boy stood up, grinning the entire way to the chamber. 

“Very good!” Dumbledore smiled as the hall quieted down and the door to the chamber closed behind Cedric. “Now, we have our champions. I expect each of you to cheer on your school’s champion, but remember, no harassing other school’s champ-” Dumbledore stopped suddenly, and Draco realized what had distracted him. 

The goblet’s fire was blood red. A piece of parchment shot out of it and Dumbledore caught it automatically.

His smile slipped off his face as he read the slip of paper in his hand.

In the dead silence of the hall, his voice rang out loud and clear.

“Harry Potter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats up guys its ya girls blue and soleil, back at it again with another drarry fanfic  
> make sure to smash that kudos and bookmark and subscribe and comment for more aWESOME content and all that shate


	2. no scorching sun nor freezing cold

Draco was almost completely sure this wasn’t supposed to happen. From what Karkaroff had told them, there was strictly one champion per school. From the silence in the Great Hall, no one had expected Harry Potter’s name coming out of the Goblet. 

Now that Draco thought about it, he had almost forgotten about Harry. He scanned the room, searching for the boy who lived, until he saw movement at his side. 

Harold was standing up. Cautiously, nervously, but standing nothenless.

He brushed his hair out of his face, probably a nervous tic, and for the first time, his forehead was visible. On the middle of his forehead, snaking from his hairline to the bridge of his nose, was a small scar in the shape of lighting, now exposed. 

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. By the time his brain had connected the dots, Harold had already stumbled down the aisle, past the whispers and the stares, and had been ushered inside the chamber. Or should he say Harry. 

Draco couldn’t believe the fool he’d been, wondering about Potter when he had been by his side all along. If only he had just put his pride aside and asked for Harol- Harry’s name, he could have saved himself this embarrassment. He thought back to the comment he had made about Krum and Harry being alike. Of course one of the most famous wizards alive—the chosen one, the one who had defeated Voldemort as a child—wouldn’t have wanted his fame brought up. 

He wondered if it had been better that way. Being friends with Krum, Draco knew how annoyed his friend could feel with the treatment he received. People stopping in the street for autographs, the constant stares and invasion of privacy. Maybe Harry appreciated being treated as someone besides the boy who lived.

He figured he had more pressing problems to worry about now than the fact that his friend (were they friends?) was apparently one of the most famous wizards in history. Like the fact that Harry’s name had been picked out of the hat, when he was underage and hadn’t put his name in the first place. 

He turned to ask Ron and Hermione. Hermione simply looked puzzled, while Ron looked… something else. His napkin was clenched in his hand, his fist pale, a sure indication that he was squeezing it harder than he should be. 

“What happened?” Draco asked them.

“I’m… not sure.” Hermione stuttered.

“Well, that’s a first.” Ron said through clenched teeth.

“What’s the matter with you?” Hermione turned to him. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous. Can’t you see Harry didn’t want this?”

Draco decided to slink away, melting into the crowd of people walking out of the Great Hall before he got caught up in their argument. 

Now he was alone.

Krum was the Durmstrang champion, which meant he was in the chamber along with Harry, the only person who he could count as an acquaintance. Hermione and Ron, the only other two people who  
knew he existed, were too wrapped up in their arguing to acknowledge his presence. Draco quietly left the Great Hall both relieved and a bit hurt that nobody seemed to notice his absence. 

He roamed the chilly halls of Hogwarts, too submerged in his own thoughts to mind where he was going. It wasn’t difficult to picture Father’s disappointment, as it had become a constant throughout his life. Draco was never good enough.

If Draco won a trophy, all his father could talk about was how someone else had done it before him, but better. If he did well in a quidditch match, his father would focus on Krum’s performance instead. Lucius Malfoy couldn’t help but pick at the flaws in his work, the chinks in his armor. And if Draco failed—like if he wasn’t chosen to be a champion—his father would never let him forget it.

He just wanted to be good enough.

“Draco?” he heard his name being called softly. 

It was Harry.

He slowly turned around to see the dark haired boy walking cautiously in his direction. He tried his best to conjure a small smile, but he knew it was insincere at best, forced at worst.

“Congratulations,” he wished, once Harry was close enough.

The Potter gave him a half smile, visibly uncomfortable.  
“Thanks, I guess,” Harry looked at his shoes.

A pause.

“You didn’t put your name in the Goblet of Fire, right?” Draco dared to ask what had been on his mind since he heard the boy’s name being called.

“No, I didn’t,” Harry looked up, and his eyes seemed full of sadness, which made Draco unhappy. It shouldn’t have, considering the short amount of time he had known the other boy, but it did. “But I doubt anyone believes that.”

Draco watched the boy’s emerald eyes flick, this time with more than simple sadness. They were filled with turmoil, with emotions he didn’t quite comprehend. But he guessed the Potter wasn’t feeling  
that excited with his current situation.

“Well, I do.” Draco said, mustering confidence the best he could.

Harry looked him in the eyes, seeming a bit surprised. “Really?” His voice was hopeful.

“I don’t see a reason to not believe you, and I’m sure your friends will know you didn’t put your name in the cup, along with me.”

“I know that Hermione will, but I’m not quite sure about Ron.”

“Why?” Draco asked, confused. From what he had observed, Ron and Harry seemed closer than Hermione and Ron. And what kind of best friend wouldn’t believe him?

“Ron’s always been a bit…” Harry searched for the right word, “Jealous, I guess.” 

They fell silent.

“I’m sorry your name wasn’t called,” Harry spoke up moments later. It was tinged with desperation, clearly a last-ditch attempt to keep the conversation alive.

Draco sighed and rubbed his temple, his forgotten frustration suddenly coming back. 

“To be honest, I should have known better than to expect to be chosen,” He uttered with crude sincerity. He saw Harry’s face lightly scrunch up with his comment, and Draco bit back a smile at his adorable expression. He veered away from that topic of conversation—not keen to dive into his childhood trauma when they had only just met. “I just don’t think I’m capable of seeing Krum’s face at the moment.”

“Oh…” Harry’s voice died as he hesitated to finish his sentence. “You could sleep at the Gryffindor dormitory tonight.” 

Draco’s eyes widened a bit with the invitation, his ears turning a light pink.

“If it wouldn’t cause any disrupti-” Draco was interrupted.

“Of course not!” Draco was caught by surprise when the normally soft-spoken boy raised his voice. “There would be no problem with that, I mean.” He said quieter.

Draco chuckled quietly, “Okay then.”

...

The comfortable silence between Harry and Draco was long forgotten once they passed the portrait of the Fat Lady. It had curdled into a quiet tension drawn between the two boys. 

“Baubles,” Harry muttered. A large portrait of an equally large woman swung open for them, not before raising her eyebrows at the Durmstrang boy accompianing Harry. 

They were stunned once they walked into the common room, hit by a blast of noise. It seemed like the entire house had been waiting for him.

Harry was immediately pulled away from Draco and into the center of the room. Suddenly every eye in the Gryffindor common room was on him.

“Why didn’t you tell us you put your name in?” Fred stared at him, the rest of the common room nodding and murmuring in agreement. 

George added, “Yeah, those beards took ages to disappear. Good one, Harry!” 

“I-” Harry stammered. “But I didn’t put my name in-” He realized no one was listening to his protests. 

“C’mon, Fred and George snatched some food from the kitchens.” Angelina pulled him towards a table. When he protested, she said, “You deserve it!”

But Harry didn’t think so. He hadn’t put his name in the goblet, after all. Someone like Draco deserved it more, someone who had done more than sit around and wait as someone else put his name in the goblet.

Which raised the question that had been simmering in the back of his mind since his name had been picked: Who entered him in the Tournament? And what were their intentions? Mad-eye Moody seemed to think the person who had put his name in wanted to harm him, but, then again, Mad-eye Moody probably thought everyone was out to get him. He recalled the story Mr. Wealey had told him about the bins. 

He was going to have to compete, that was made clear in the chamber after his name was called. A magical binding contract was a magical binding contract, with no way to wriggle out. Not everyone had wanted him to compete, however. Madame Maxime and Krum had been furious, and Harry shivered just thinking of their faces as they stared at him with cold anger, the opposite emotion that filled the common room now. 

George pulled a Gryffindor banner from seemingly out of nowhere and draped it on Harry’s shoulders. It weighed him down, and his shoulders slumped. 

He glanced around desperately. Would anyone try and stop him if he headed upstairs to his dormitory?

Apparently not. It turns out people were so wrapped up in their own celebrations they didn’t notice him sneaking off. 

He found Draco leaning against the wall of his dormitory, scowling and crossing his arms. When he spotted Harry, his frown lessened and he pushed himself off the wall. 

“Where have you been?” Draco asked. “I lost you in the crowd.”

“Everyone seems to think that I put my name in the goblet.” Harry closed the door behind him and collapsed onto his bed. 

Draco walked in after him hesitantly, as if afraid he would break something. “I can see why they would think that, but give them time. I don’t think they want to believe you.”

Harry shrugged. “I guess.” He paused. “Honestly, I’m exhausted. I just need to go to sleep. I can sort everything out in the morning.”

He was on the verge of sleep when he realized that Draco was standing, alone, in a corner of the room. 

He looked quite awkward, his eyes darting around, never lingering on one item for too long. 

Harry rubbed his eyes and looked at Draco. “Here, take my bed.” With great effort, he dragged himself out of his mountain of soft pillows and blankets, shivering as the chilly night air hit him. 

“But-” Draco began to protest.

Harry waved his concern away. “I’ll sleep in Ron’s bed. He’ll be okay with it.”

Draco looked like he wanted to protest more, but he didn’t, presumably because he was too tired. 

In fact, Harry was struggling to keep his eyes open, and he let darkness surround him as he fell, face first, into bed. 

...

Harry woke up to the sun streaming through the windows and an angry, red-faced Ron standing over him. 

“Ron!” Harry propped himself up on his elbows. “You okay, mate?”

Ron crossed his arms, shooting Harry a scathing glare. “Thanks for asking before you crashed in my bed for the night. I had to sleep on the bloody floor!”

“Oh.” Something was wrong. Ron was his best mate, he had expected him to just take the other side of the bed. Harry didn’t have some sort of contagious disease, after all.

“Now can you get off my bed, or is that yours now?” 

“It’s not mine, Ron, you know-” Harry scrambled off the bed, retreating to his own, where Draco was still sleeping. 

Better to leave him alone, I guess. Harry told himself. Ron had some odd moods, but hopefully by the end of the day he’d be back to normal.

Turning to Draco, he shook him lightly, awkwardly, by the shoulder. 

Draco shot upwards, eyes wide. “I’m awake-” A little bit of the fear drained from his eyes when he saw Harry.

“Sorry.” A slow blush spread across Draco’s face. “I’m just not used to anyone but Krum waking me up, and his methods are… a tad questionable.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Dumping lakewater on my head, putting his pet salamander in my bed, etcetera.” 

“He sounds…”

“No,” Draco stopped him. “He’s a good guy. Just- creative. Inventive. Keeps me on my feet.”

“Oh.” Harry said. 

There was a pause as they both waited for the other to say something. When Harry realized that Draco was anticipating some witty comment back, he said quickly, “Would you like to go down to the Great Hall for breakfast?”

Draco nodded eagerly. “I wonder if Krum is down there already.”

“Oi, Ron,” Harry called over his shoulder as they walked to the door. “Meet us there!”

He opened the door, waiting for a response, but Ron said nothing. As the door closed behind him, Draco chuckled nervously. “Not in the best mood, I gather?”

“Yeah, he’s not usually like this.” They climbed out of the portrait hole, ignoring the glances they received. The other students weren’t even trying to hide their points and stares. Draco looked uncomfortable next to him. 

“So is this what being the chosen one is like?” Draco hissed, low enough so no one could overhear. 

“Not usually.” Harry tried to comb his hair back with his hands - he was becoming more and more aware of how much of a mess he looked. “Most of this attention comes from the fact that now everyone thinks I’m a cheat.” He shrugged, painfully aware of how hard he was failing at trying to seem calm. 

“Oh.” Draco said, falling silent. “That… sucks.”

“Yeah.” Harry shrugged. “I mean, it was probably worse in second year, when everyone was convinced I was using a giant snake to attack muggleborns. Most of the student body was fully convinced that a scrawny second year was using scary dark-lord powers to try and kill people. Like, seriously?”

“I’m finding it hard to imagine why anyone would call Hogwarts the safest magical school, honestly.” Draco said, laughing a little awkwardly as they reached the Great Hall. From there the whispers and stares only got worse. As they shuffled past the other students, it was quite clear that they were not happy that he had gotten his name picked. 

The glances and snide comments only got worse as they sat down. In fact, the only people who seemed to be enjoying this were the Gryffindors. The Beauxbatons and Dumrstrang students seemed to think it unfair that Harry had been picked, while the Hufflepuffs didn’t like that Harry was taking their moment in the spotlight. The Slytherins hated everything Harry did, so this was probably just an excuse for them. The Ravenclaws didn’t seem like they particularly cared. 

Harry could see throughout breakfast that Draco was feeling quite awkward. Occasionally a Gryffindor would come up and pat Harry on the back. Harry would give them an awkward smile and then go back to staring at the table like he wanted to bore a hole in it’s wood with his gaze. The Slytherins were talking, much too loudly, (practically shouting, actually, to be heard from across the dining hall) about how much they hated cheaters. Hermione was sitting with Ron, who was sulking at the end of the table and occasionally glaring at Harry. That left Harry to make uncomfortable conversation with Draco. Harry couldn’t help shifting around his seat and pushing his food around the plate. He probably looked like he would rather be facing Voldemort than be there. He almost felt like that, too.

...

Draco wondered if Hogwarts always had this much drama. Of course he had heard about the Chamber of Secrets opening in second year, the escaped prisoner in third year… in Durmstrang, the drama often stemmed from who was making out with who, not the yearly murder.

When breakfast finished, Draco headed to classes with the rest of the Durmstrang students and the Slytherins. Krum was a refreshing face, and a good night’s sleep had significantly improved Draco’s mood towards him. 

Of course, he had every right to be proud. But Draco would be lying to himself if he thought he didn’t have to suppress the jealousy that rose inside him whenever the other students looked at Krum in the hallways with respect. 

He wanted that. No matter how much he tried, he still needed approval. Naturally, being around Harry all the time would only be worse for his self-esteem.  
But Draco didn’t think he could help it. 

...

The next two weeks were uneventful. The other student’s anger towards Harry seemed to die down slightly. Perhaps the oddest part of Hogwarts was Professor Trewlany, the divination teacher with glasses that took up her entire face. She seemed dead-set on predicting Harry’s brutal death, which seemed like an odd fixation. 

Harry had assured Draco that she was always like this, but he didn’t like to talk about her, especially about the final exam, where Draco presumed something important had happened. For the first couple of days he had been a bit annoyed at Harry, avoiding his questions about her, until he remembered that they had known each other for such a short time in the grand scheme of things.  
He didn’t want Harry to known about his father, Harry didn’t want him to know about whatever had happened last year. Fair enough. 

He and Harry were walking towards potions (a class taught by Professor Snape, who hated Harry and seemed to like Draco but disapprove of his friendship with the Gryfindors) when they ran into the Slytherins. They were each wearing a large badge with bright red letters that read, “Support Cedric Diggory—the real Hogwarts champion!”

“Like them, Potter?” Pansy Parkinson, a girl with short, dark hair who might’ve been pretty if her face wasn’t permanently stuck in a scowl, said. When she pressed a finger into the badge, a green message appeared, reading “Potter Stinks.”

“Real funny, Parkinson.” Hermione crossed her arms. 

“Want one?” Pansy reached into her satchel and held out a badge for Hermione. “I’ve got loads.” 

Draco watched as Harry’s face turned red. Hermione, if possible, looked even angrier. Her hands were both clenched into fists.

No matter how much Draco wanted to punch her, he composed himself. There were better ways to get revenge than landing yourself in detention. 

“She’s not worth it.” Draco grabbed both Hermione and Harry’s hands and shrugged past Pansy, smirking as he watched her face fall out of the corner of his eye. Obviously this wasn’t the reaction she was expecting.

As soon as they got out of sight, Hermione pulled her hand away from his. “Did you hear what she said?”

“Yes, I did.” Draco nodded. “There’s better ways to get revenge than getting into some pointless fight. God, you two are such Gryffindors.”

He realized he was still grabbing Harry’s hand and quickly let go. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “They’ve said worse. Let’s just get to Potions.”

They entered before the Slytherins (thank god, Draco thought) and sat at their seats. Before Snape could begin to speak, there was a soft knock on the door of the dungeon. Colin Creevy hesitantly opened the door and slipped in, looking terrified. 

Snape looked down his hooked nose at the first year. 

“Sir, I’m supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs.” Colin squeaked. 

Just like that, every head in the room turned to Harry. Even he looked confused. 

“Potter will go upstairs once his potions class is finished.” Snape scowled. “I don’t tolerate interruptions to my class, boy.”

Colin looked like he would pass out right onto the floor. “Sir, Mr. Bagman wants him. I think the champions are taking photographs.”

Harry looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Pansy was sneering. 

“Very well. Gather up your things and leave, Potter.” Snape glared towards Harry, who scrambled to collect his stuff and follow Colin out the door. 

Draco was left alone in the dungeon, surrounded by the slytherins and their badges. God, he wanted to rip those fucking things off their robes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after an eight month hiatus we're back babey!!

**Author's Note:**

> whats up guys its ya girls blue and soleil, back at it again with another drarry fanfic  
> make sure to smash that kudos and bookmark and subscribe and comment for more aWESOME content and all that shate\


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